


Daddy

by BottomArthurPendragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bottom Arthur, Incest, M/M, porn star
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 19:03:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15955565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BottomArthurPendragon/pseuds/BottomArthurPendragon
Summary: Someone coughs off screen, and Arthur can’t help but look over. Gwen scowls at him and motions with his hands.“Do something!” She mouths.





	Daddy

Gwen sits at her desk, lacy corset a vibrant yellow smear in the dimness of the room. Arthur shifts in his leather seat and sighs. 

“Look Gwen, I told you. I don’t bottom on screen.”

Gwen eyes him and steeples her fingers under her chin. Arthur hates it when she does this, when she calls him into her office and just  _ stares  _ at him. He’s not a mind reader.

“I know viewers have requested it, but I just can’t. I’m sorry.” 

“In four years, you’ve only done scenes with Lance and Merlin. And usually it is the same thing. You, the big, brave, macho man who seduces, them the soft, vulnerable twink. It might be a different background; the football pitch, the changing room showers, a classroom, whatever. But it’s always the same plot.”

Arthur shifts again, grimacing as the chair squeaks. “Okay?” 

Gwen shrugs. “I have a suggestion, but I’m not sure you’re going to be any more open to it than you are to bottoming.” 

He can feel his eyes narrowing, can feel the sweat beginning to gather in his pits. “Go on.” 

Gwen, for the first time since she called him into her office, looks nervous. “Look, you know we are a no holds-barred company. As long as it’s not harming anyone, and no one is underaged,  _ anything goes.”  _

Arthur nods. “Yeah, I know. I’ve seen Mordred and Morgana and Merlin’s half-sibling threesome scenes.” 

Gwen tilts her head to the side. “Yes. But I’m thinking something closer.” 

He frowns and studies her. “What exactly are you asking me to do?

Gwen sucks in a breath and glances at the door like she’s hoping someone will walk in. “You turn 23 soon. And I’m thinking a birthday scene.” 

“We’ve done those before. Not exactly anything new.” 

“It’s called ‘Daddy Gives the Best Gifts’.” 

His heart stops, his brain goes static. It’s so sweaty and the heat makes it worse and he means to argue for another kind of scene but instead, he blurts out, “How soon do we shoot it?” 

 

\---

 

Arthur has never been nervous filming before. It’s always felt natural to him to strut for the camera, to flaunt himself for an audience. That he gets to do it while having sex is just a bonus. He tried explaining it once, to a nervous Elyan, where his head goes. How it’s a soft world; just him and the skin of his partner. Gwen usually plays music low enough that it can be removed in post production and he likes to lose himself in the rhythm. 

There’s no music playing now. All he can hear is his own heartbeat and his father’s breathing. He resents Gwen, and her lack of plot, more than he ever has. Normally he likes the freedom to do his own thing. 

Gwen likes to stray away from the silly porn scenes, likes to let the players ease into scenes and do what feels natural. But for the first time, Arthur is wishing she had given him  _ some _ sort of guiding command. At least told them who was in charge. 

Uther, for his part, seems entirely too at ease as he watches his son fiddle with the ridiculous tie they’ve dressed in him. He knows what his father is doing. His father has done it all of his life. He’s watching, analysing, waiting for Arthur to make his move.

Someone coughs off screen, and Arthur can’t help but look over. Gwen scowls at him and motions with his hands. 

“Do something!” She mouths. 

He lurches forward, as if she’s physically pushed him. His father raises an eyebrow, and the corner of his lips twitch into a slight smirk. Arthur can feel himself coming alive and he scowls at his father. 

Part of him is unsure how to approach. He feels as though for the sake of future viewers he should say something. But it doesn’t feel as natural as just crowding into his father’s space, curling his hands in the lapels of Uther’s suit. He can’t decide if he intends to push him, or pull him in. 

Uther frustratingly doesn’t make a move. There’s no indication he’s even slightly bothered by what’s going on. It bothers Arthur more than he wants it to. 

“You know it’s my birthday right?” 

“I do.” 

Arthur lets go of the lapels, smooths them down with hands that are shaking. He swallows and it’s too loud in his ears. “Did you get me anything?” 

Uther gently removes his son’s hands. He doesn’t let them go though. “What did you want?” 

For a moment, Arthur forgets where he is. He ducks his head and shrugs, always unable to  _ ask _ for what he wants. Uther lets go of one of his hands, lifts Arthur’s chin with to fingers. Arthur can feel his tongue dart out to lick his lips; he doesn’t miss the way Uther’s eyes track the movement. 

Arthur has never been able to ask for what he wants, but he knows what to do next. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t give his father time to push him away. He presses his lips to Uther’s, lets his tongue dart out ever so slightly. 

Uther taste like Diet Pepsi and lemon biscuits. Arthur knows it’s what his father prefers to snack on, but it’s strange tasting the flavors together for himself. It’s not nearly as unpleasant as he thought it would be, and he finds himself chasing the taste with his tongue, trying to lick all the traces of it out of Uther’s mouth. 

Uther laughs against his lips, gently pushes Arthur back. Arthur pouts, and he feels like such a child, but he can’t help it. Uther reaches up and ruffles his hair. In a petulant move, Arthur shoves Uther’s hand away. He can see his father moving away, pulling back. Part of him knows it’s to build suspense, but part of him feels 18 again, feels the sting of rejection. 

He’s not sure why he does it, what compels his next actions, but in one swift and smooth move he’s ripping his shirt over his head and tossing it off. He doesn’t let uther speak, doesn’t give his father a chance to  push him away again. He grabs Uther’s face between his hands and puts everything he has into the kiss. It’s too much teeth, he knows. Something all of his partners have complained about before, but Uther doesn’t seem to notice, nibbling on Arthur’s lower lip, sucking his tongue into his own mouth. 

The kiss last for a long time. Arthur loses himself in it. He almost doesn’t notice Uther shedding his coat, balancing his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, backing his son into one of the pale walls. 

His brain wakes back up when Uther is a warm pressure against him, hips involuntarily bucking against Arthur. He doesn’t know which one of them makes the noise, but he pulls back to catch his breath. Uther’s eyes are dark, and Arthur finds himself thumbing a drop of sweat that gathers above Uther’s lips. Uther licks at the thumb and Arthur nearly comes there, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. 

He expects something here, in this moment, the way he always does. Uther does not say anything though. He runs a hand down Arthur’s chest, over the freshly waxed plans, across pebbled nipples. 

Arthur is impatient though, wants  _ more _ . “C’mon,”  he mutters clawing at his father’s shirt. He hates the stupid button ups, the dumb tie wrapped around his neck. It takes far too long to remove them, even ripping them, and Uther proves totally useless in helping. He moves on to the belt next, fingers thick with excitement and then he’s kneeling. He’s halfway got the older man’s pants off when Uther puts a hand on his head, stopping him. 

He looks up at his father and waits patiently. Uther brushes his hands through his son’s hair a few times and looks like he’s debating something. Not whether to continue, but how to continue. Arthur doesn’t have time for that though, so he continues pushing at Uther’s pants until he has them down around his ankles. 

Uther steps out of them and then away from Arthur who lurches after him. Uther raises a single eyebrow. “I’ve taught you better than that, haven’t I?” 

Arthur leans back instantly, face puckered in discontent. He’s rewarded though, by a hand pressed to his cheek. 

“Your words, Arthur. Use your words.” 

He hates this, hates having to beg. He’s never been able to put his desires into words, never been able to articulate exactly what he wants. But he knows Uther, knows the way he plays these games. He’s been watching his father’s scenes since he discovered porn. “Father, please.” 

“Please what?’  

Arthur lifts his chin defiantly. His father might have his style, but Arthur does too. He stays on his knees, but shuffles forward. Uther doesn’t step back, doesn’t push him away. He reaches a hand up, lets his nails scratch through the brown curls on Uther’s belly. 

He’s always surprised at how soft his father’s belly is. Uther is a strong man, well built and sturdy, He’s also surprised at the faintest traces of gray in the dark hair. For a moment, he loses himself tracing the swirls letting his fingers dip into the waistband of Uther’s briefs. Occasionally Uther will stroke his cheek or rest a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, but he doesn’t react otherwise. 

That won’t do for Arthur. He leans forward and licks at the curls, and when nothing happens, he tilts his head down and lets his breath ghost over Uther’s cock above the fabric. He’s rewarded with a shudder that urges him on. “Father, may I?”  

His fingers hove at the elastic band and he looks up through his lashes. Uther swallows, the only sign of how Arthur is affecting. “You may.” 

Arthur tries to suppress his grin. From the way his father thumps his ear, he hasn’t quite succeeded. Uther makes quick work of kicking his briefs off and Arthur is left with a facefull of semi-hard Uther. He leans in and inhales. Uther is a spicy musk, and he noses at the base for a long moment just breathing, 

Uther is not spectacularly large or thick. But even half-hard he’s a force to be reckoned with. Arthur licks at the head, scrunching his nose at the bitter taste of precome. It’s never been his favorite thing, but he knows he’ll get used to it. He starts slowly, just barely letting his tongue brush against the slit, against the underside. He works his father’s balls in his left hand, presses his right palm against his own aching member. It doesn’t take long before his father is fully hard, curving upwards. 

Arthur has never been particularly skilled at this part. At hollowing his cheeks or opening his throat. But he works slowly, carefully. Curls his tongue around the veins. He moves too quickly for a moment and he has to pull off as the head of his father’s cock hits the back of his throat. He coughs a few times, eyes watering. Uther sinks to his knees and murmurs in his ears, hands rubbing soothing circles on his back. 

“Should we stop?” 

Arthur shakes his head, shame curling about his shoulders. Normally he’s on the receiving end of a blowjob. Uther knows this. He stands back up, but when Arthur leans forward, tries to press his lips to the head again, Uther gently pushes him away. He motions for Arthur to stand, and when he does, motions for him to remove his own pants and briefs. 

Arthur does. He stands there naked as his father appraises him, and tries not to shift, to cover himself. It shouldn’t shock him when Uther sinks to his own knees, when he takes Arthur into his mouth in a practiced motion. 

Arthur is his father’s son, well-endowed without being too thick, too long. Arthur can’t help but fist his hands in Uther’s graying hair as his father takes him to the base, curls his tongue expertly,  _ hums _ against him. 

When Uther sighed around him, Arthur can feel his butt clenching and his hips jerking. Uther uses his hands to still his son. “Please!”

Uther pulls off him immediately and Arthur whines at the sudden loss. “So close.”

“I know son, I know.”  Uther stands up and kisses him gently. 

Arthur doesn’t have time for gentle kisses though. He’s pulling at his father’s shoulders, unsure of exactly what he is asking for, but he knows Uther understands. 

Uther pushes him towards the ostentatious bed set up in the middle of the “bedroom.”  Gwen spares nothing for the comfort of her performers, so the dark sheets are soft as Uther pushes him onto his back. 

  
  


\---

  
  


Uther takes a moment to enjoy the sight of his son sprawled out before him. Arthur is soft skin and golden curls and despite being 23, he still has a bit of his youth clinging to his hips, to the underside of his jaw. He has his back on the bed, his legs spread and feet balanced on the floor.

It is almost disappointing to him that for the sake of filming Arthur is already prepped. Still though, Uther runs a hand down the shaved chest, then runs both of his hands up Arthur’s thighs. Arthur watches him, blue eyes dark. Uther smiles, hides it as he kneels to kiss the inside of his thigh. He hears Arthur swallow and he can’t help but bite at the soft flesh, making his son grunt. 

Uther runs his hands up the backside of Arthur’s thighs until he can fit the globes of his ass into his hands. He squeezes them, just once, and then runs his fingers through their divide. He’s searching, teasing, and Arthur squirms. He makes a noise high in his throat, half pleading, half demanding and Uther laughs. “So very impatient.” 

But he gives in, traces the rim of Arthur’s hole with the pad of his thumb. He’s rewarded by Arthur spreading his legs further, by the sight of his son’s cock twitching against his belly. He circles it a few times, spreading the lube around before gently pressing in. Arthur tenses around him Uther looks up to see his jaw working, clenching tightly, but he doesn’t stop. He pulls his thumb out and replaces it with his forefinger, pushing in gently. 

He curls his finger once, twice, and then carefully adds a second. He holds still for a moment as Arthur shifts, before he carefully begins to move. He’s never been a fan of the squelching noise and he wishes Arthur would make  _ some _ kind of noise, but Arthur’s always been a quiet lover.

Uther has every intention of making him loud. 

He turns his head and smiles into Arthur’s thigh and he can feel his son shifting on the bed. When he looks up Arthur is on his elbows watching, a scowl fixed on his pouty lips. Uther raises a brow at him. Arthur responds by lifting on of his legs up, letting his foot rest on the edge of the covers. 

“You’re not ready.” 

“Sure I am.” 

Uther rolls his eye. He ignores Arthur as he gently presses a third finger in, stretching them wide. Arthur sucks in a breath, loud in the silence, and Uther smirks at him. He curls them in, spreads them out, works through the squelching wetness, until Arthur falls onto his back, one arm thrown over his face. He works his other hand down his torso until he’s grabbing himself, stroking lazily. 

Uther could spend all day in this position, watching Arthur pucker around his fingers, listening to his labored breath and the sound of his hand stroking himself lazily. He  _ would _ but the lights flicker like an ill-timed blink, reminding him this moment isn’t entirely his. 

He pulls his fingers out of Arthur in a swift move and Arthur hisses at the sudden exit. 

Uther knows how he wants to do this. He wants Arthur on his back, so he can watch his face, but he ask anyway. “How do you want this, son?” 

Arthur watches him a moment, debate evident in his eye. He’s never had to consider the question and Uther can see the hesitancy. Arthur doesn’t  _ like  _ being on display this particular way, and he’s resigning himself to a view of his son’s back when Arthur balances both feet on the bed. Uther stares at him, a little shocked, and Arthur grunts out, “Let me get a pillow under my hips.” 

As soon as Arthur is ready Uther enters him. He does so in one quick move, hardly giving Arthur any warning. Arthur huffs against him, grips at Uther’s wrist bracketing his chest. Uther holds still for a moment, let's Arthur adjust around him and then he’s pulling out and shoving back in. 

He moves quickly, sets a rapid pace that doesn’t let Arthur settle into a rhythm. At one point he manages to find that special spot and Arthur groans long and low, arches up. Uther has to press his hands against his son’s waist, push to keep him still. He loses himself in the warmth of his son, tight and pulsing around him.

Arthur fist his hands in the sheets, screws his eyes shut, and lets his mouth fall open, and Uther knows what that means. Knows his son is close, and it’s almost a relief because Uther doesn’t know how much more he has in him. He thrust three more times, rapid fire, and Arthur lets out a sharp cry. Then he clenches around his father, hips spasming, and thick white ropes spurting up his belly.

Uther follows a split second later, filling his son. 

He slumps over Arthur, spent and tired, and enjoys the feeling of Arthur’s hands brushing through his hair. When he can breath again, he presses a kiss between Arthur’s pecs and pulls out, grimacing at the cooling lube and come, the weird squelching noise.

“Happy Birthday, son.” 

Arthur smiles up at him, a little sleepy. “Thanks, Daddy.” 

 

\---

 

After they’ve cleaned up and grabbed a bite to eat, they sit in Gwen’s office. She’s eyeing them shrewdly, in that way she does, and Arthur is shifting nervously. Uther picks at his nails and waits. 

Surprisingly, Gwen cracks first. A small smile dances across her lips as she eyes them. “If you’re up for it, I think we could do a whole range of scenes involving you two.” 

Uther defers to Arthur, let’s this be his decision. 

Arthur tilts his head to the side, chews a lip. “Alright. But I still want a few scenes with Merlin, okay? I don’t want to give up topping just yet.”

Uther grins. “You heard him.”


End file.
